THG: Through Peeta's Eyes
by My Quiet Riot
Summary: Have you ever wondered about Peeta's take on The Hunger Games? Well, here's your chance to find out. From the reaping, to the interviews, to the arena, to the after-math, this is Suzanne Collins' book, "The Hunger Games", completely from Peeta Mellark's point of view. Rated 'T' for minor language, teen violence, and slight sensuality.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! So, I enjoyed writing about Katniss & Peeta so much, that I've decided to take on a rather large project; I'm going to (attempt to) re-write the entire Hunger Games book, but from Peeta's perspective. I've always been kind of interested in what Peeta's take would be on all of it, so I decided to try writing it myself. You guys let me know what you think in a review, though; if it's not interesting or something, I'll drop it. xD I'm sure it has been done before, but oh well. But anyways, I'll follow the chapters in the book, so it's easier for both you & I; which means there will be... 27 chapters? However many there are in the book. xD & the chapters will be as long as I write them, only breaking at chapter breaks. Which means the word count will be monstrous. xD**

**ALSO, I'd like you guys to vote on something semi-important: for the scenes where 1) Foxface dies & Katniss discovers Peeta had nightlock, & 2) the final nightlock/suicide-threat, where they were going to both eat the nightlock... should I do those two scenes based off of the book or movie? I'm mostly going off the book, but I wasn't sure on these two. For Foxface's death, I liked the movie-version, where Katniss is super worried about Peeta & she's like, "You scared me to death, damn you!"; but in the book, she's mad at him, & I don't like that as much. I also liked the movie-version part where Peeta reaches out for Katniss' braid just before they were about to take the nightlock. I was all like, ":')". Anyways... feedback would be awesome!**

**Sorry for the long A/N. xD Anyways, enjoy, & let me know what you think on the above things! (: & remember, this is all from Peeta's POV. C:**

* * *

I wake up to the warm sunlight wafting gently through the window next to my bed. I sit up groggily and rub my eyes, trying to force them to get used to the bright sun. I slowly walk over to the window and open it slightly, peering out and breathing in the still-cool summer air. It would have been a picture-perfect day... if it weren't the day of the reaping.

I sigh heavily and trudge over to the small trunk at the other end of the room, where the few clothes I do have are stored. I rummage through it, trying to find something nice for the reaping. I soon pull on sand-colored slacks and a light blue button-up shirt. The fabric of the almost-white shirt is thin, which is good; though it's nice out now, it will surely get warmer as the day passes.

As I get dressed, I can't help but think of Katniss. Katniss Everdeen is the girl that I have had a crush on for the past 11 years. I know I shouldn't be thinking of this now, but I let my mind drift briefly back to the day I first saw her. I was only 5 years old, but I remember it clearly. She wore a red plaid dress, and her long, dark hair was tied back in two braids instead of one; they bounced slightly as she walked to school. I also remembered her singing in music class; the teacher asked us who knew the Valley Song, and her hand shot up in the air faster than I could blink. She sang it beautifully, and everyone applauded. In that moment, I swore that- just like her father- all of the birds outside fell silent, listening intently to Katniss' voice. I knew from that day on, that she would always be special to me. I'm not going to say I automatically loved her, but I always did like her.

I watched her walk home every day for 11 years; and every day for 11 years, I failed to work up the nerve to talk to her.

I shake my head to clear my mind, knowing that I shouldn't be thinking of a girl on a day as serious as the reaping. I finish buttoning up my shirt before stepping out into the dimly lit hallway and into the kitchen.

My mother glances up as I walked in, but says nothing as she returns to whatever she was doing. My father must be busy with something else, because he isn't in the room. The younger of my two older brothers is sitting at the table, already dressed in his reaping clothes. He sits silently nibbling on a piece of dry bread. The silence was unusual for him, since he was usually a big talker. I quickly concluded it was nerves; although this was his last year to be reaped, he was as fair of game (pardon the pun) as anyone in that reaping ball... to some extent, anyways. The only greeting I received was from my eldest brother, who is too old now to be reaped.

"Hey, Peeta," he says warmly, giving me a slight smile. "You look nice,"

"Thanks," I say nervously, walking over to the kitchen sink and moistening my hands so I could pat my hair down.

My oldest brother was always the one nicest to me; my other sibling took more enjoyment in either teasing me or simply not talking to me. I was used to it, so I ignored it most of the time; but it was still nice to be talked to fondly by your own family.

I only have time to briefly scarf down half a piece of hard bread before I hear the horn, signifying that those whose names are in the reaping ball should hurry down to the Justice Building. I silently follow my brother out of our house, keeping pace behind him as we wind through the dusty streets of District 12. Around us, we can see mothers making their final clothing and hair adjustments on their nervous child as they prepare to head off to the same location. I briefly half-wish my mother had fussed over me that way, but I knew from the start that she wouldn't. I am fairly positive she hates me and everyone else around her; how she is still married to my father- who is a polar opposite of herself- I did not know.

We continue to walk in tense silence until we reach the square, where people are already bustling around. We will have to separate here; he will go off with the other eighteens, and I will walk over to the group of sixteens. As we approach the place where we have to part ways, he unexpectedly turns around. Surprised, I almost walk right into him, but stop myself short just in time.

"Peeta," he says hesitantly, almost awkwardly. His eyes shift nervously, and I detect a flash of what I think might have been fear; but it was gone as quickly as it came.

"Uh, yes?" I reply, a bit taken aback that he was even addressing me, let alone in a soft manner. The brief flash of fear I had seen just seconds ago still haunt me a bit, but I push the thought away and look him in the eyes. This could very well be some sort of joke; he always did like to play jokes on me. I decide to keep my guard up, crossing my arms instinctively across my chest.

"Look," he starts, shifting his weight uneasily; "I know I pick on you a lot, and we're not particularly best friends," He looks down briefly, before tilting his head up again and meeting my gaze. "But good luck," he finishes. He reaches out and gently squeezes my shoulder before turning and heading off to his group.

I stand in momentary shock, almost not believing what he just said to me; but I quickly shake it off and approach the table where Peacekeepers sit, pricking fingers to take blood and add it to their registry. I hold my hand out and a brief zap follows, but I barely notice it. My eyes are focused on Katniss, who is kneeling beside her nervous-looking younger sister, Prim, whispering something to her. Katniss dawns a light blue dress that falls down just past her knees, and her hair is braided back in some fashion which is too complex for my understanding of female hair. Prim wears a weathered blue dress as well, that looks so worn it is almost white. I vaguely remember Katniss wearing that dress, too, on the morning of our first reaping as 12-year-olds.

Prim's name has a very, very minuscule chance of beaing reaped, considering this is her first reaping. But she still looks understandably anxious; probably somewhat for herself, but also for her sister's safety.

I walk over and take my place by the other male sixteens. I steal a quick glance at Katniss, who is now mouthing something to someone several rows behind me. I look back to find Gale Hawthorne mouthing something back to her, coaxing a laugh out of Katniss. I am stabbed with a momentary needle of jealousy over how close they are and what they must have together, until I remember that this is the reaping; the reaping, for God's sake. There was no time for thoughts about my love life.

I stand and watch silently and tensely as thousands of other people flood into the square; parents, siblings, and potential-tributes themselves all stand restlessly, fidgeting with something or other. I turn slightly and crane my neck, squinting to see if I can make out any of my family. My older brother- who had been actually talking to me minutes earlier- stood soundlessly by the group of male eighteens, staring straight ahead and talking to no one. I notice my father and eldest brother filing in towards the back, and they meet my gaze, giving me a reassuring nod and smile. I smile back, then turn around again to face the front.

Effie Trinket, District 12's escort, is stirring anxiously next to Mayor Undersee. I briefly register him as Madge Undersee's father; I had often seen Madge with Katniss at school. They didn't talk much, but that seemed to suit them just fine.

Effie's make-up coated face is almost scary-white; a complete color contrast to her pink-ish hair and bright green suit. In the midst of the light blues and grays of District 12, Effie looks desperately out of place. She doesn't seem to notice, though; and if she does, she doesn't care.

Soon enough, President Snow comes strolling out the doors of the Justice Building and begins to talk. He tells things about the history of Panem, which used to be called North America. He talks about disasters and war and the Capitol, which apparently 'rose up from the ashes' and 'brought peace and prosperity to its citizens'. Yes, because I'm feeling so peaceful and prosperous at the current moment. He drones on and on about our history, then moves on to actual talk of the Games. I tune most of it out, as I have heard it every year for the last several reapings, and I really don't care to hear it again. It's probably better that way, anyways; all it normally does is piss me off. I just fail to see how sending 24 kids off to fight each other to the death until one remains, with the near-entirety of Panem watching, is of any use at all. I'm sure there are 'reasons', but to me they just seem like stupid excuses disguised as legitimate reasons.

Snow calls the names of the only two victors from District 12. The one still living, Haymitch Abernathy, staggers onto the makeshift stage. He is drunk, and not just had-a-glass-too-many drunk; I mean full-on, probably-drank-a-whole-vineyard's-worth drunk. In his drunkenness, he is confused by the applause, and tries to bear-hug Effie. She side-steps and disentangles him with some struggle. She clears her throat, clearly flustered. I glance over at the Mayor, who quite frankly looks mortified. Understandably so, considering this is currently being broadcasted live to the collective citizens of Panem.

At last, President Snow shuts up, and Effie Trinket strides boldly to the podium.

"Happy Hunger Games!" she calls into the microphone. She is overly-cheery, and flashes the crowd a pearly-white smile. "And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" She continues in the same almost-annoying bubbly voice, saying something about how much of an 'honor' it is to be here. Despite her masqueraded enthusiasm, I think everyone knows she's lying; she'd much rather have been assigned to a more glamorous District.

"Ladies first!" Effie calls valiantly, trotting over the the girls reaping ball. She reaches in and digs her hand in, rummaging blindly around for a few seconds, before sharply pulling a strip of paper form the glass sphere.

She strides back to the podium, holding the small strip of paper in her hand. Everyone in the square takes in a sharp, involuntary breath, almost in unison; and I swear the whole world literally stopped spinning for those couple of seconds. _Please not Katniss_, I beg silently. _Please, just not her. Anyone but her_.

She opens the paper and inhales, preparing to speak. I continue to beg silently as she calls the name.

And I get my wish; it's not Katniss.

It's her little sister, Primrose Everdeen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's Chapter Two! Hopefully you guys enjoyed the first chapter; let me know what you think of this one, too! Reviews would be wonderful; thanks for the one so far! (:**

**ALSO, if you read my last chapter, I got a review saying I should name Peeta's brothers. I was a bit hesitant, but I did end up naming them. His eldest brother's name is Bannock, & the middle brother (older than Peeta, younger than Bannock) is named Ryden. Both derivatives of bread, yes. xD 'Bannock' means something like 'oat bread', & Ryden is a form of rye bread. xD **

**As a side note to my _Cause of Death_ subscribers: Don't worry! I haven't quit writing for CoD. Not in a million years! But I am taking a bit of a break, to work a dent into this little project I assigned myself. (: Maybe I'll squeeze in a one-shot or something. Maltara? C: But if any of you are Hunger Games fans, I'd love some feedback! (:**

* * *

Prim. Primrose Everdeen. This year's female tribute representing District 12, is Primrose Everdeen.

I stand in complete shock and horror, as does everyone else in the District. Whenever a 12-year-old is chosen, it's quite a natural upset.

My eyes snap to Prim. The other twelves around her shuffle back, making room so Prim can walk up to the stage. Her face is ghostly white, and her hands are clenched in fists at her sides. She walks stiffly, terror written all over her young face. I glance at Katniss, who looks just as pale. Her jaw is nearly dropped to the ground in sheer disbelief. Prim's name was in there once. Once. One slip of paper amidst thousands. She shouldn't have been chosen. Statistically, the odds should have been very much in her favor. But they weren't.

Just as Prim is almost at the stage, Katniss' shrill, clearly-terrified voice pierces through the silence.

"Prim!" she yells, running towards her sister. Several guards step forward, but she pushes past them, stepping in front of her sister.

Then Katniss says something that nearly stops my heart.

"I volunteer!" she yells loudly and desperately. "I volunteer as tribute!"

A shocked murmur runs through the crowd as people strain to see what's going on.

"Lovely!" exclaims Effie, clapping her hands in glee. Her bubbly attitude at a time like this enrages me, and I clench my hands into tight fists to keep myself from doing something stupid.

I can't believe it. Katniss just volunteered for Prim. Katniss, the girl I've loved for so long, is going into the arena.

Prim's thin arms are now wrapped around Katniss, and she is screaming protests, clutching her sister's dress even tighter.

"No, Katniss!" she screams, tears pouring down her cheeks. "No! You can't go!" Katniss turns around to face Prim, and I can tell she's fighting back tears. The last thing she wants is to be labelled as a weakling or softy for crying on public television.

"Prim, let go," she replies harshly, trying to disentangle Prim from her dress. "Let go!" she repeats when Prim holds on tighter. Gale quickly walks up behind Prim, picking her thrashing form up in his arms. Their eyes meet, and Gale murmurs something that I can barely make out.

"Up you go, Catnip," he says, also fighting to keep his voice steady.

Katniss takes a deep breath and climbs the steps, meeting Effie on the stage.

"Well, bravo!" she gushes again, clearly delighted. "That's the spirit of the Games! What's your name?" She holds the microphone out to Katniss.

"Katniss Everdeen," she chokes out, clutching the fabric of her dress. I can see her take a deep breath in and out, steeling herself for whatever was to come.

"I bet my buttons that was your sister!' Effie says merrily. Katniss nods the affirmative that, yes, Prim was her sister. "Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!"

To the endless credit of my District, the entire square is silent. Completely and utterly silent. Not a single soul claps. Instead, they mournfully press their three middle fingers to their lips and extend them out towards Katniss. It is a symbol of thanks, admiration, and goodbye to someone they love.

I watch Katniss' expression on the screen, and can see that she is now in a very high danger of crying. Thankfully, Haymitch Abernathy chooses this pause in Effie's talking to stumble on stage.

"Look at her! Look at this one!" he exclaims drunkenly, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "I like her! Lot's of... spunk! More than you!" he adds, pointing to Effie. He releases his hold on Katniss and walks towards the front of the stage. In his drunkenness, he somehow misjudges the distance between himself and a 10-foot-drop, and plummets right off the edge of the stage, knocking himself out cold. Everyone gasps, different emotions coursing through them all. Some register shock, while others are just suppressing a laugh. Most, however, look down in embarrassment; that was my current standing on the situation. This entire... ordeal... was just broadcasted live to all of Panem, meaning everyone in the nation just witnessed Haymitch knock himself out.

Effie is back to center stage, clearing her throat and trying to draw attention away from Haymitch, who is now being whisked away on a stretcher.

"It's time to choose our boy tribute!" she says merrily, pulling out a slip of paper and zipping back to the podium quicker than lightning. I don't even have time to worry about who it is, before she says it.

"Peeta Mellark!"

_Wait, what?_ I think to myself, frantically looking up at Effie. _That's... me. _

The crowd around me begins to part as faces of District 12 stare at me silently. _Oh my God, _I think silently._ She picked me. My name. I am going into the arena._ For a moment, I forget about everyone else; Effie, Haymitch, the other citizens, and even Katniss. All I can think of is my certain death. I start to walk slowly up to the stage, and I struggle hard to remain emotionless. I cannot appear weak either. Even though I'm fairly muscular from lifting heavy sacks of flour and the like, other tributes will label me as a weakling if I'm seen freaking out over national television.

I ascend up the stairs to the front of the Justice Building and join Katniss and Effie center-stage. Effie calls for volunteers, but none step up. I hadn't expected anyone to, really. Not even Ryden. Sure, we were family, but not close like Katniss and Prim. Family devotion only goes so far for most people on reaping day. What Katniss did... that was an extreme.

President Snow now steps up and does the annual reading of the Treaty of the Treason. After, he motions for us to shake hands. We stare at each other for a moment, as the real horror of the moment hits me. I am going into the arena with Katniss Everdeen, the girl I have loved for years on end. Only one of us gets out of there alive. I can see something reflecting in her eyes, too. Recognition. She must remember that day when we were younger. The day with the bread in the pouring rain.

Suddenly, I am so determined to get her out of that arena alive, that I find my left hand clenched into a fist. I quickly release it and reach out my other hand and shake hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. I realize that it doesn't matter if I die; and if Katniss is to get out of here, I will have to. We may not have ever spoken, but I love her, and her family needs her. Prim, her mother, and... Gale. As much as I hate to think it, Gale needs her, too. They're best friends, after all. My family doesn't need me; not really, anyways. My mother hates me, and despite Ryden's 'good luck', I don't have much of a relationship with him, either. Bannock and my father are probably my two family members that I'm closest to. Sure, my death will upset them, but they'll mourn me and move on soon enough. They don't depend on my to feed their family or take care of a younger sibling. Hell, none of them really _need_ me for anything.

Yes; I have come to the following conclusion: Katniss Everdeen will get out of the arena, and I will not.


	3. Chapter 3

**I know I haven't updated in a couple days, so here is an extra long Chapter 3! Thanks for the favorites & reviews! Hope you enjoy this one; I had fun writing this. C: Enjoy, & leave a review please! C:**

* * *

The anthem ends, and we are immediately brought inside. Katniss and I are ushered to separate rooms where we will have exactly one hour for any goodbye's we may want to make. They tell me to wait here, so I take a seat on the plush, velvet couch. I run my hand over the velvet, which I've only seen a few times in my life. It just gives me something to do, I guess.

I don't really expect Ryden to come say goodbye, so I'm surprised when he walks in alone. Surprisingly, he looks like he might have been crying.

"Hey," he says timidly as he approaches me.

"Hi," I reply, standing up to meet him.

"I... I just wanted to say... I'm sorry. I-"

"Ryden, it's okay," I interrupt softly.

"No, just... just let me finish." I nod consent and he continues. "Look, I... know I've always been a jerk to you, and I was never really nice at all. Bannock went after me for that so many times, but I... never listened, I guess." He paused and ran a hand through his hair, which was the same blonde as mine, but longer. He took a deep breath in before continuing.

"And today... I... I could've volunteered for you. I should have. I'm your older brother, and I'm supposed to protect you... but... but I let my nerves get the best of me, and I made stupid excuses, and ultimately I just... I didn't. I should have, and I feel horrible because this is really my fault. And... I... Peeta, I'm sorry." He breaks down in tears in front of me, succeeding in thoroughly startling me. I don't think I've ever seen him cry, let alone over his guilty conscience towards me. I step forward and gently put my hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay, Ry. It's not your fault. It's okay," I soothe quietly, pulling him into a hug. "I forgive you," I whisper, fighting for control of my voice.

"Thank you," he chokes, pulling away and wiping his eyes on the back of his hand.

A Peacekeeper walks in just then and announces that our time is up. Ryden nods briefly at the Peacekeeper, then quickly turns back to me.

"And... try to come back, alright?" he croaks in a voice that's barely audible.

I force a smile and nod the affirmative, not having the heart to tell him that it probably won't happen. I'm focusing on keeping Katniss alive, not myself. The last thing I want is for it to come between her and I, anyways.

"I will," I say, and he gives me a slight smile before turning and being ushered out by the Peacekeeper. I wipe at my eyes, which I hadn't noticed until now, were spilling tears. The door opens and the same Peacekeeper gruffly heralds Bannock and my father inside. Bannock immediately pulls me into a hug, and I don't hesitate to hug him back.

"I would have if I were able to," Bannock says, biting his lip to hold back tears. His statement was vague, but I knew what he meant. Volunteering. He would have volunteered to take my place if he were still young enough.

"I know," I say softly, because I know that he really would. When I pull away, my father steps up next. He isn't crying, but his kind eyes are almost hollow. I think that's worse. He pulls me into a hug, too, but doesn't say anything. He's a man of few words.

"I love you, Peeta," is all he says, pulling away and looking me in the eye.

"I love you, too," I reply.

"Please stay alive," he adds, inhaling unsteadily. I nod and give the same non-committal answer I gave Ryden. I don't want to make a promise I can't keep.

We all stand there in comfortable silence until, all-too-soon, the same Peacekeeper tells them they need to leave. They each give me another hug and a probably-forced smile before being pushed out of the room.

The door almost immediately opens again, and I almost fall over at who stands there. My mother. I exhale a shaky breath, involuntarily and instinctively taking a step back. Considering we have never had a good relationship, you can imagine my shock that she's even bothering to visit. I'm almost a bit happy at first, as my mother really never gave me any attention. She liked Bannock, but for whatever reason, not Ryden or I. But my moment of semi-happiness is immediately shattered at what comes out of her mouth.

"You know, District 12 might actually have a winner this year." She looks up at me with cold, hard eyes, and somehow I know that she's not talking about me. She's talking about Katniss. With that, she turns and leaves, slamming the door on her way out.

Tears find their way to my eyes and I can feel them sliding down my cheeks. What the actual hell, mom? She could have at least given me a simple 'good luck', or at the _very_ least, a curt nod goodbye. But no; she used her last couple of minutes with me- probably forever- to insult me. I reflect back to all the names she's called me, and how many times she's hit me or screamed at me about how 'useless and stupid' I am; and I realize I shouldn't have expected anything even remotely nice from her, really. She's never given a damn about me, so why would she start now? She doesn't even believe I have a chance. I guess I should be grateful that she thinks Katniss could win, because that's what I truly want. I want Katniss to come back, not me. Her family needs her, and obviously mine doesn't really need me. But it still hurts to see that she doesn't even care.

I sigh and sit back down on the couch, putting my face in my hands and allowing tears to spill out between my fingers. Really, I should be trying to hold them in, considering there will be cameras recording and broadcasting our every move the second I get to that train station. But at this point, I don't care. Let them think I'm weak or vulnerable or whatever else, because I really don't care.

The door flies open again and I look up to see a Peacekeeper walking in, telling me it's time to go to the train station. I frantically wipe my eyes, trying to erase signs that I've been crying. But as I pass a mirror, I can see my attempts are useless; my eyes are reddened and puffy from crying, and nothing about that will change within the next five minutes. I sigh and follow the Peacekeeper outside, to where a car waits. Katniss and Effie are already inside. The Peacekeeper motions for me to get in, and I silently comply. Katniss stares seemingly-emotionless out the window, while Effie rattles on about some Capitol junk. I tune it all out, and stare aimlessly out the window as the car starts. I silently fight back tears as reality begins to strike: I am going into the Hunger Games. I try to push those thoughts away, focusing on the buildings we pass and the people who stare at us.

The ride to the train station is short, and Katniss and I are soon enough ushered out towards the train. We stand for a few minutes in the doorway as the cameras take us in; then we are allowed inside. It begins to move almost immediately. The speed makes us both stagger for a moment, as it is going at least 200 miles per hour. Once I regain my balance, I take in my surroundings. The tribute train is fancy. Very fancy. Even the room in the Justice Building is nothing compared to this. We are each given our own rooms that have a bedroom, dressing area, and a private bathroom. The bathroom even has hot and cold water. The drawers have more clothes than I've ever seen in my life. Effie tells us that everything is at our disposal, and to go ahead and clean up before dinner.

I quickly take a hot shower, which would be a luxury back in District 12; we almost never had hot water there. I quickly find a plain white button-up and a simple pair of jeans which I dress myself in. I hear an abrupt knock on my door, and open it to find Effie, who has come to collect me for dinner. I follow her to the dining area, where she tells me to sit and wait. She walks off to find Katniss, leaving my alone in the dining car. I take a seat and try not to let my mind drift to things I'd rather not think about. Instead, I stare at the ornate dishes. They're glass, and very breakable; I'm almost afraid to touch it. Nobody back in 12 would be able to afford even one of these, let alone a whole set like this.

Several minutes later, Effie reappears with Katniss following behind her.

"Where's Haymitch?" Effie asks cheerfully, taking a seat across from me and motioning for Katniss to sit down, too. She sits in the chair next to me, and I can see her eyes widen at the fancy dishes, too.

I knew where Haymitch was. I had seen him earlier, drinking himself stupid and he eventually passed out on the couch. I didn't really want to say that, though, so I lied.

"Last time I saw him, " I say, "He was going to take a nap." Not a complete lie; Haymitch was certainly sleeping.

"Well," Effies says, now extra-bubbly at Haymitch's absence, "It's been an exhausting day!"

Soon enough, the first course of supper comes. They give us so much food; more than I've ever seen before, let alone allowed to eat. An Avox sets down different foods in front of us. Some I knew, such as the carrot soup, salad, lamb chops, mashed potatoes, cheese and fruit, and chocolate cake. Others I had no idea what they were, but I tried a few anyways. Effie keeps reminding us to save room, as there's more to come; but Katniss and I both stuff ourselves regardless. Neither of us have had so much food at once, and our instincts to gorge when there's food takes over.

"At least, you two have decent manners!" remarks Effie as we're finishing up the main course. "The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion." Effie shivers, as if cringing at the memory of poor manners.

I grew up in a bakery and my father taught all of us good manners, so of course I knew how to handle a fork and knife. _Just because we're from 12, doesn't mean we're all savages._ I would have liked to say that out loud, but I decide it's best that I don't. I glance over at Katniss, who is apparently vexed at Effie's comment; and she has no problem with showing it. She makes a clear point to eat the rest of her meal with her fingers. She even wipes her hands on the table cloth, earning a hard look from Effie. I barely suppress a laugh by shoving food in my mouth and pretending I'm choking.

After we're done eating, I can feel the food churning in my stomach. I've never had so much rich food at one time, and I'm fighting to keep it down. I meet Katniss' gaze, and I can tell we're both feeling a bit sick.

Effie stands up and leads us to another compartment, where we watch a recap of the reapings nation-wide. Several of them stand out to me, such as a fierce-looking blonde girl from District 1. A very well-toned boy from District 2. A girl with gleaming red hair that slightly resembles a fox from District 5. But what is arguably the most eerie of them all, is a small twelve from District 11. She is alike Prim in size and demeanor; slender and innocent-looking, but with a hint of mysteriousness. She has dark brown hair and olive skin, but she looks surprisingly calm. When they ask for volunteers, though, nothing but the wind steps up to take her place.

Finally, the recap for District 12 comes on. I watch as Prim's name is called and Katniss runs up and volunteers. I watch as the entire District refuses to applaud, and instead gives the three-finger salute. I also watch my face as my name is called, hoping I looked emotionless. I lean in slightly towards the screen, studying myself for any signs of angst. My demeanor was fairly free of emotion, but my eyes were almost wild with fear. I just hope the rest of Panem didn't catch that.

The screen switches to Haymitch plummeting drunk off of the stage, and Effie makes a disgruntled noise. "Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation," she states animatedly. "A lot about televised behavior!"

I laugh without thinking, which seems to annoy Effie. "He was drunk," I state humorously. "He's drunk every year."

"Every day," Katniss adds, laughing as well. Effie glares at us, and Katniss apparently can't help but smirk. I suppress a laugh that would have surely sent Effie after me.

"Yes," Effie seethes, "How odd you two find it amusing. You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these Games. The one who advises you, lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and your death!" Our smiles falter a bit at this, reluctantly realizing that this was true.

Just then, Haymitch stumbles in, obviously drunk again. "I miss supper?" he asks in a thick, slurred voice. Then he bends over and vomits all over the lavish carpet, then proceeds to fall right into it.

"So laugh away!" finishes Effie, turning around sharply and fleeing the room, her heels clicking and clacking as she leaves.


	4. Chapter 4

**Wow, it has been _forever _since I updated this story; it was literally August the last time I wrote this. I kind of forgot I had it in progress... Anyways, thanks for the reviews on this so far! I'm sorry it took me almost six months to write the next chapter... *sheepish grin*.**

**Oh, and I know the part about mahogany isn't in the book, but I couldn't resist adding it in. I almost died of laughter when I saw that in the movie the first time. And second. And third. And eighth. **

**ANYWAYS, enough of my rambling; enjoy, and please let me know what you think!**

* * *

Katniss and I stand in raw discomfort as we silently watch Haymitch try to rise to his feet, only to slip in his freshly-made vomit and liquor mix. I cringe at the stench, and exchange a worried glance with Katniss. I try not to think about the fact that once we're in the arena, he is all we've got. Like it or not, Haymitch will be the thin rope connecting us to the outside world.

Simultaneously, as if coming to the same unspoken decision, we step forward and each grip one of Haymitch's arms, struggling for a few moments before eventually pulling him to his feet.

"I tripped?" Haymitch asks, surveying the vile scene around him. "Smells bad." He wipes his face with the back of his hand, succeeding only in smearing vomit all over his face.

"Let's get you back to your room," I say. "Clean you up a bit." With Katniss' help, we half-drag half-carry Haymitch to his room, hauling him directly into the bathtub, immediately turning the shower on.

"It's okay," I say, turning to Katniss. "I'll take it from here." A hint of relief floods her eyes, though she tries to hide it with a forced smile.

"All right," she says. "I can send one of the Capitol people to help you."

"No," I reply. "I don't want them." I'm not particularly fond of cleaning vomit off of Haymitch in the first place; trying to do that with the 'help' of one or more of those annoying Capitol robots would send me over the edge. Katniss nods before exiting the bathroom, presumably heading to her own compartment.

I carefully strip Haymitch down, trying my best to support him without dousing myself in the process. I eventually manage to clean him up, and hastily re-dress him before nearly dragging him to his bed. Though tucking my mentor in wasn't my ideal day plan, I do so anyways. Flicking the light off behind me, I tiredly trudge back to my compartment.

As I lay within the comfortable confines of the satin-lined sheets, I can't help remember the day with the bread. I know she probably remembers it, too, though refuses to speak of it.

I was just a little kid then. It was pouring rain, and I remember the cold draft that entered the bakery whenever the door was opened or closed. As I was baking bread, I had noticed a lump of what seemed to be a human; upon further inspection, I realized it was Katniss. Katniss Everdeen, the girl I had had a crush on for several years as of then, was huddled out in the pouring rain. Liquid streamed down her face; I couldn't tell if they were tears or just merely the rain. Nevertheless, I felt bad. Even from that distance, I could tell how thin and frail she looked, matching the state of many in our district. I had glanced down at the hot, steaming loaves of bread I had just pulled from the oven, wishing I could give them to her.

Then a thought crossed my mind; if I could somehow find an excuse out of the bakery for a few minutes, I could sneak them to her. I glanced down at the loaves in my hands, then at the burning coils inside the oven. I checked behind me, searching for any signs of my grump of a mother; if she caught me, I was toast, pardon the pun. Acting quickly, I dropped both loaves onto the red-hot coils, allowing them to burn for several seconds before yanking them back out. Just as I closed the oven door, I felt a smack on the side of my head. I whirled around, meeting the furious eyes of my mother as she glared down at me. Apparently my attempts at secrecy were fails.

"Look what you've done!" she yelled, hitting me again. I cringed but endured it, clinging to the two now-burnt loaves as if my life depended on them. In reality, somebodies did; just not mine.

"Feed it to the pig, you stupid creature!" she continued, face turning red with rage. "Why not? No one decent will buy burned bread!" She whapped me hard in the face with a large wooden spoon before she shoved me out of the back door. I stumbled and nearly fell over, but managed to catch myself against the weak wooden railing of the porch. I began to tear off small chunks of the scorched parts, slowly tossing them in the pig trough until I was absolutely sure my mother was gone. Then, never making eye contact, I took a few steps out into the rain, threw both loaves in her general direction, then turned and ran back inside before my mother had a chance to witness it. I watched from the window of the warm bakery as she momentarily stared at them in disbelief before snatching them up, shoving them under her jacket and swiftly walking away.

I saw her at school the next day, though I was with my friends and, for whatever reason, chose not to acknowledge her. My eye had blackened and my cheek was swollen, a prominent red welt on the side of my face. Though it hurt, it was worth it. I managed to lock eyes with her after school that day, though she only held my gaze for a second before she dropped it again, and I turned away.

Still lost in thought, I half-heartedly sift through the drawers of clothes, searching for something to wear to bed. I eventually gave up and just yanked my shirt off, tossing it to the floor as I undid my pants. I let them drop to the plush carpet as I climb under the warm sheets once again. Though you'd think I'd be exhausted after such a crazy day, sleep does not come easy. I toss and turn for God-only-knows how many hours before I finally fall into a restless slumber.

* * *

I awake the next morning to the shrill, overly-enthusiastic voice of Effie Trinket, chiming from the hallway outside my door.

"Up, up, up!" she chirps. "It's going to be a big, big, big day!" I groan as I momentarily try to comprehend the bizarre train-wreck of thoughts that must race through that woman's head day in and day out. After little thought on the subject, I come to the rapid conclusion that I do not want to know. Reluctantly climbing out of bed, I slip on a plain white t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans, pausing a moment in an attempt to tame my hair. Giving up, I step out into the hallway, and make my way to the dining car.

I am immediately greeted by the agitated voice of Effie Trinket muttering something under her breath in annoyed tones. Haymitch sits in a large, plush chair chuckling to himself. I notice his face and eyes are puffy and red from yesterday's events. I immediately feel uncomfortable, sliding into a chair as Effie greets me with a curt, distracted nod before continuing her quiet rant of obscenities.

In front of me on the grand, wooden table is food; more food than I have ever seen before, let alone been allowed to eat. An Avox quickly comes with a giant platter of delicious-looking food. I subtly breathe in and take in the wonderful aromas of the assorted foods, some of which I'd never seen before. Of what I did recognize, eggs, ham, and potatoes were piled on my platter. A large bucket of fruit sat chilled in a bucket of ice, and an unbelievably large basket of assorted rolls was placed in front of me. Though I was used to making bread every day of my life, these rolls looked extraordinary. A tall, crystal glass sits to the side of my plate with an orange beverage, which I take to be orange juice. Coffee is poured in a second cup, a steaming mug of dark brown liquid. Next to it is another mug with another brown substance, though it looks much more appealing than the coffee. I've never had much of a palette for coffee; I always find it too bitter and odd-tasting.

As Effie passes me again, I lightly catch her arm and point to the second mug of brown liquid.

"Excuse me, but what is that?" I ask her. Briefly glancing down, she responds without a second of hesitation.

"That's hot chocolate, dear," she answers. "It's much sweeter than coffee; try it." I nod and partake in a hesitant sip, swallowing it and allowing myself to taste it. It tastes really good; chocolate-y, but not too rich.

As I take another sip, Katniss emerges from the door wearing the same outfit she had on yesterday. Her hair is still up in her famous braid; though slightly tousled from a night of probably-not-much-sleep, it still looks presentable. She slides into her seat next to me and I notice her take a questioning look at the hot chocolate, probably wondering what it is.

"They call it hot chocolate," I say, and her eyes meet mine. "It's good." She nods and takes a sip, involuntarily shuddering. Ignoring the rest of the meal, she drains her cup, licking her lips in approval of the sweet drink. After both our cups our drained, we stuff our faces with everything we can hold. I didn't want to over-do it, but everything was so _good_. After several plate-fulls, Katniss sits back and heaves a satisfied sigh. I continue to slowly eat, tearing off bits of a roll and dipping them in my newly-filled cup of hot chocolate. I glance up and notice Haymitch's plate is completely untouched; instead, he is mixing some form of red spirit into a cup of clear liquid, probably meant to thin it. With deep agitation, I realize that he'll be completely useless by the time we reach the Capitol, if not incapacitated or passed out.

"So," Katniss begins, startling me from my annoyed thoughts of Haymitch. "You're supposed to give us advice."

"Here's some advice," Haymitch almost spits. "Stay alive." With that, he bursts out laughing as if it's the funniest thing in the world. I exchange a quick glance with Katniss, before she quickly turns away, as if deciding not to look at me. My usual-mild personality aside, fury boils inside of me. The man who was supposed to be helping us- or at least _trying_ to help us- was drinking himself into sheer oblivion.

"That's very funny," I growl, eyes narrowed. I suddenly lash out, knocking the glass out of Haymitch's hand. It falls to the floor, shattering as the crimson liquid, not much unlike blood, spills across the floor. Haymitch pauses for a moment in shock, seeming to consider something before springing forward and punching me in the jaw. I suppress a grunt as I fall from my chair. Just as he turns back to reach for the red spirit again, Katniss picks up a knife and, with break-neck speed, drives it hard into the table. It just barely misses his fingers, leaving a solid margin of quarter-centimeter.

"That is mahogany!" I hear Effie exclaim from across the car. Ignoring her, I turn my glare back to Haymitch.

"Well, what's this?" Haymitch says as he sits back and squints at us. "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?" I rise from the floor, not taking my eyes off of him as I scoop up a handful of ice from under the basket of fruit. I begin to press it to the place Haymitch's fist impacted my jaw.

"No," Haymitch says, stopping me before I can reach my cheek. "Let the bruise show. The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it to the arena."

Confused, I state, "That's against the rules."

"Only if they catch you," Haymitch says with, to my surprise, a mysterious glint in his eye. "That bruise will say you fought, you weren't caught yet, even better." He turns to Katniss, briefly surveying her before speaking.

"Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?" he asks her. The manner of his voice makes it seem almost like a sarcastic remark, though I believe he actually intended it as a legitimate question. _She's amazing with a bow and arrow!_ I thought to myself. _Right in the squirrel's eye, every single time._

She says nothing, though; only wordlessly yanks the knife from the table, adjusts her grip on it, and throws it across the room towards a wall. The knife whistles through the air and lodges itself in between two of the wall's panels.

"Stand over here. Both of you," Haymitch commands, motioning towards the center of the room. We both obey as he circles us, examining us from head to toe as if we're prey he's waiting to pounce on. He prods our arms, checking our muscles and examining our physiques.

"Well, you're not entirely hopeless," he concludes with a satisfied nod. "Seem fit. And once your stylists get a hold of you, you'll be attractive enough."

I try not to think too much into what he probably thought were compliments.

"All right, I'll make a deal with you," he offers, standing in front of us with crossed arms. "You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you. But you have to do _exactly _what I say."

Not what I would call a wonderful deal, but a couple steps ahead of where we were previously.

"Fine," I agree, hoping I sound somewhat stubborn.

"So help us," Katniss says. "When we get to the arena, what's the best strategy at the Cornucopia for someone-"

"One thing at a time," Haymitch grumbles. "In a few miutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resist."

"But-" she begins.

"No buts," Haymitch cuts of strictly. "Don't resist." With that, he picks up a bottle of spirits and leaves the car, letting the door swing shut behind him. I let out a flustered sigh, glancing over at Katniss. She's not looking at me, though; instead, she stares straight ahead, seemingly avoiding my gaze.

As the lights suddenly dim considerably, I realize we must be in the tunnel that runs through the mountains and into the Capitol. As the train begins to slow, Katniss and I can't help but dart to the window. I stare out in wonder at the sight I've only seen on a small, grainy television in my living room: the Capitol. Its features are even more grand than the television, though I knew it would be. The tall buildings glistened in the afternoon sun, reflecting rainbows off of the glossy windows. Shiny cars make their way down the blacktop streets as oddly-dressed citizens mill around the sidewalks; their hair, clothes, skin, and overall appearance in general is bizarre, to say the least.

People begin to stare and point, excitedly waving as the train slows. Katniss steps away from the window with a look of disgust written across her face. I know why, but I refuse to back away. These people could be the difference between life and death; might as well be friendly. I notice Katniss staring at me and shrug.

"Who knows?" I say. "One of them may be rich."


End file.
